


We Are the Same

by leigh57



Category: 24
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More comment!fic imported from an LJ meme</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are the Same

“You’re never gonna eat all of those.” He hands her the container of McNuggets (ten pieces), breathing salt and grease.

“Watch me. I just swam for three hours.” She stuffs a whole one into her mouth, no evidence left behind but the smudge of hot mustard sauce at the edge of her lip. Licking salt off her finger, she puts bare sandy feet up on the dashboard and says, “Can I have the Coke? I’m so thirsty.”

He gives her the soda they’re sharing; the cold condensation on his fingertips is nothing compared to the prickly chill that clenches his stomach.

 _I’m so thirsty._

He drops the fry he was about to eat and puts both hands on the wheel. He’s doing seventy-five, but he glances sideways. She’s gulping the soda, head relaxed on the headrest, shoulders improbably pink-tinted even though she must have put on sunscreen three times (and forced him to do the same).

In China, Cheng liked to withhold water for a day and a half and then interrogate him while sipping a 44-ounce soda. Jack watches her drink, the liquid level in the cup dropping with each swallow. It defies logic, but _his_ throat feels cooler.

Renee leans forward and flips on the radio, fiddling with the tuner buttons until she lands on something he thinks is probably by Mellencamp, not that he’d bet money. She reaches into the beach bag and pulls out a blue plastic cup; the contents clink softly as she rummages through it. After a second she holds up a small, perfectly curved ivory shell, turning it in her fingers so it illuminates in the evening sun flaring through the window. “I think this one’s the best.” She gently replaces it in the cup and turns toward him. “I was saving it for Teri until I realized that’s ridiculous. She probably has a million of them.”

He squeezes the steering wheel. “Give it to her anyway. She collects them.”

“I can try.” She laughs. “This one probably won’t even make the cut.”

He stares at the chipped paint of the grey Trailblazer ahead of him, but that’s not what he sees. He sees her sleeping, pale in the sun, on the blue Smurf beach towel she bought him as a joke (they were on sale for $1.99). He sees the green fabric of her one-piece suit, stretching slightly over her ribs with each inhale. She’ll never wear a bikini again; he doubts she cares, but he hasn’t asked.

“Jack?” He blinks himself back into the car. “What’s wrong?” Her forehead is creased, white smear of sunscreen by her eyebrow.

“Nothing.” He turns up the radio and reaches for her hand. Sand scratches his knuckles as he slides his fingers into hers.


End file.
